This is a guest submission by one of my oldest friends, with a pseudonym of Layla. Layla and I met at St Mary’s School in Barrie, Canada when we were tiny and became close because we had so much fun together AND we walked the same way to school every morning. (I’ve heard it said that young friendships have a lot to do with geography). All these decades later, we are still friends. She still cracks me up as much as she did back then. Back when we used to put Mark’s stereo on in the rec room with Fleetwood Mac blaring and do cartwheels and walk-overs in the dark.
Once Layla, with her reddish hair very similar to my brother Jobe, was accepted into our family, she was a regular at our family meals and was around our house most days. I also spent a lot of time playing at her house, often the two of us alone, because her Grandmother would be at work at the hospital where she pulled twelve-hour shifts. I remember watching a ten-year old Layla cooking up a pound of bacon or ground beef to eat for supper without any other foods on the plate. I remember that was really different because Mom would always have us build a balanced meal on our plate: protein, vegetables, starch.
Layla had this really odd baby-sitter, Shirley, who kept her kidney stones in a small jar on her dresser. We would sneak into her room to point and peer at them (the stones). ‘Ewwww, gross!’ we would whisper to each other with freckled, scrunched up faces. We were barely tall enough to for our eyes to clear the top of the highboy dresser. One time Shirley caught us and tried to smack Layla. We were too fast for her though as we used our guile to get away from Shirley who walked with a cane. (But seriously, why keep them on your dresser?)
There was a group of us at times: Kelly, Paul Aikins (R.I.P.), Layla and I were often together cooking up mischief. One time, we decided to light ‘strike anywhere’ matches in a closet in Layla’s rental flat in an old Victorian on Bayfield Street. When her grandmother found out, she called my parents and I was punished. I got the belt to my behind from my Dad due to the seriousness of the infraction. It never happened again. Another time we were in trouble with Sister Mary Catherine. Layla received ‘the Strap’ for it. I am certain that woman was a witch. She was horribly mean.
When my older sister Amy became a hairstylist after attending the Barrie School of Hairdressing, I can clearly remember the time she gave Layla a ‘pageboy’ haircut. It was the same haircut made famous by Dorothy Hamill the 1976 Olympic skating champion. The haircut took place in our basement bathroom of our Peel Street house. The large bathroom with the bright blue melamine counter-top opposite the sink. Layla perched there on a stool, me watching from the edge of the tub while Amy snipped. Twenty year-old Amy had long blond hair and baby-blue eyes. Her slender fingers were entwined in Layla’s extra thick strawberry blond locks as she cooed softly to Layla to help her relax. Layla had a very sensitive scalp. Layla became the talk of the grade 5 class with that hair cut, it suited her so well. It was so very ‘IN’.
When Layla moved away, I was heart-broken. We would write letters back and forth and she did come to the camp once. Then there was my trip to the Badlands where we re-connected. Layla has been to my home in Nova Scotia twice and I will see her in Calgary soon. Can’t wait!!!!
Here is her story of strength in finding a New Life. (She says it was God, but, I would argue that it was ALL HER!)
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Layla writes:
I was born into a Catholic family in North Bay, Ontario, baptized as a baby and attended the Catholic Church and school from birth to sixth grade. My earliest memories are of living with my Grandma and Grandpa. It didn’t occur to me to question it- that was all I knew. But for a loving Grandmother, I would have grown up with strangers.
My next significant memory is of moving to Barrie, Ontario with Grandma Bea – as her marriage of 25 years was ending. She worked hard to support us. At that time everyone in my class lived with their Mom and Dad. The 30 of us moved up through the grades together. We all attended St. Mary’s Church and school.
My Grandma kept an orderly and safe home for us. She kept me in tap, jazz, and baton classes after school. I also did gymnastics at school. Downtime at home was spent playing outside with the other neighbourhood children.
My Mom showed up when I was 7 years old and wanted to reclaim me. I had no idea who my Mom was, and neither Grandma or I were prepared to be apart from one another.
Through a series of events, and several more years past, it was decided that I would go and live with my Mother in British Columbia. This was just before I entered 7th grade.
My safe predictable world came crashing down. My Mother lived very differently, so I soon found myself appalled and alienated. Coming home after school to groups of people drinking and drugging was completely foreign and quite scary to me. The mood swings the adults displayed were also new to me.
I deeply regretted moving to BC I was small and lean at the time, and also got to learn what it was to be the new kid, get bullied, and have to fist fight to get past the gang to get home. I hated my life.
Sometime during that year, Mother’s boyfriend threw us out during the night in a rage. We landed at a shelter and eventually moved to another home with another school- and another gang of bullies to deal with.
I did okay at first in 8th grade. I loved biology and participating in the gymnastics club. At some point though, with more chaos and confusion at home, I couldn’t cope anymore. I switched to another school that was a specialized alternate learning environment. I did okay there for awhile and then we moved again to another city. Same scenario happened all over again…. I was completely done.
I dropped out of school and spiraled downward for many years. My teenage years were an unstable mess. By 15 I was done with life. Attempted suicide… failed. Somehow I carried on- working, going to night school, and partying.
By 19 I had to sober up and find a way to live with a new purpose. I was solidly entrenched in unhealthy living patterns. By this time many friends had died due to the lifestyle- intentionally or otherwise. Through all of this, I was starting to wake up a bit and notice some things that scared me. God was drawing me…
Thankfully I had a good friend who had cleaned up a couple of years ahead of me. She took me under her wing and walked me through the daily beginning steps of sobriety. For awhile, an AA women’s group was a lifeline for me.
At some point in my new sobriety, I began to question the meaning of life. A very clear turning point happened when I was in my downtown, Nelson BC apartment. Looking up and down the street, I began to think about the people coming and going. What was the point of it all? How did it start? Where would it end?
Thus began a new quest to satisfy these queries. Nelson was a New Age hot bed with plenty of options to consider. Initially I returned to visit the local Catholic Church- only to be faced with a sexual advancement from a married man who attended there. I left and continued my quest. I looked into a multitude of things that people seemed satisfied with and engaged in. Gestalt therapy, Wicca, Mormonism, and others. They all seemed interesting, but I was always left with a sense that there had to be more. Something that was IT!
I had a friend at college who was sparkly eyed and always kind and friendly with me. She attended the local Evangelical Free Church. So I asked her if they did any fun stuff. I attended a campfire night by the river with the College and Career group. I found them to be funny, interesting and had good music that I hadn’t heard before. The group also had a bible study at my friend’s house. I went to check this out. At the first one, they spoke of the fruits of the Spirit. I knew I wanted those things. Love, peace, joy, patience, kindness, gentleness, self-control. WOW! I was very interested.
I finished my office administration training. I did my practicum and volunteered in local offices as I was unable to find work. The town was economically shutting down. I had a student loan and the collectors were calling. So I moved to Calgary in 1990 to get some work and pay off my student loan so that I could go home again to Nelson, BC.
My Grandma had already moved to Calgary, so I stayed with her while I worked and saved. We loved being reunited and savoured our time together.
I am now celebrating 30 years of living in Alberta. We make our plans, but God orders our steps. This was not my plan.
I got work right away. Not long after moving to Calgary, I was invited to Grace Baptist College and Career. Through this group I was introduced to the Gospel of Jesus Christ and was told that I needed to be born again. I really didn’t know what to make of this.
As I considered the information, I felt like no matter where I went, I was being shown very clearly that there was good and evil. I needed to make a choice. The fence sitting was not going to be permitted much longer. At a crossroads, I called out to God. However, I was still unconvinced if He was real or not. Was I going to dive in- or walk away? I earnestly asked God, if He was there, to show me clearly. I opened my bible at a random place and my eyes landed on Proverbs 23:18. “There is surely a future hope for you, and your hope will not be cut off.” I prayed then and trusted the blood of Christ to wash away all my sin and to make me new in Christ. Thus began my journey as a Christian…
Not long after this, a lovely senior lady from church came over to my Grandmother’s place to teach me the scriptural basics and disciple me.
As the years went on, trials and growth opportunities were abundant. I journeyed through legalism, deep marital pain, divorce, isolating from believers, failure….but God.
I began to learn, at a heart level, verses like Isaiah 26:3 “You will keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on You. Because he trusts in You.” Also, Philippians 4:6-7 “Do not be anxious about anything but in every situation, by prayer and petition with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.” And Philippians 4:19 “My God will supply all your needs according to His riches in glory in Christ Jesus.”
Despite all the pain, the unfaithfulness, the confusion- God has continued to win my heart. With so many distractions in this world, singing praises has always guarded my heart and has become an essential way for me to set my mind on Him. Being in fellowship with like-minded Believers, who lovingly point each other back to truth, has also been a huge blessing and lifeline for me.
By the grace of God I can now say- I belong to Jesus- heart, soul, mind and strength. Galatians 2:20 “I have been crucified with Christ [in Him I have shared His crucifixion]; it is no longer I who live, but Christ (the Messiah) lives in me; and the life I now live in the body I live by faith in (by adherence to and reliance on and complete trust in) the Son of God, Who loved me and gave Himself up for me.”
My partner visits these grower co-ops and walks the steep mountain sides to pick the berries after being awoken at 4 a.m. when the women rise to begin making the tortillas to fuel the next day’s harvest. How does that raised fist live in them? Do they ever taste their coffee?
My brother Jobe who was number five in the 
Anyway, before he could stop himself, and with little pink tongue clamped to the right side of his mouth, he systematically dismantled the whole intricate chandelier, but not a piece of glass would touch the floor. Four year-old Job had very carefully clutched each glass piece in his little hands and put each one down on the table top he was standing on… in exact order of its place aloft. He took a three-dimensional glass chandelier and made it one-dimensional. All Mom had to do later was carefully hook it all back up. She was fascinated by his ability to do this, and so were we.
nine of us moved for the summer months to be on the 
And when it came to water-skiing, he was quite impressive – slalom-skiing beautifully and even starting from the dock or the water on one-ski, which took a great deal of strength, balance and coordination. His physicality was confident and true. He was physically gifted. Mr Laset attested to this fact when I called him last winter to casually affirm my Elementary school memories when forty years ago he had been our beloved 
At the lake, Jobe would even ski down the 
Stealthily, hazel eyes rolling this way and that, with a fishing rod, and pink tongue stuck out just so, he would hook said pants and reel them up, ever so quietly, stealing glances down at Dad who was crashed out on the twin bed. The pants would seemingly float up into the loft where he then would quickly reach his small sure hand into the right front pocket and take out the roll of cash from Dad’s polyester double-knits. (Every summer, Dad would busily sell various items to campers: ice, worms, fuel – all for 
One of the chores at the camp was the daily picking up of garbage using the big red wheel-barrow. We had to wheel over the gravel roads around the 21 acres to each of the campsites and to the nine cabins and ask at the door for their garbage. Then, to the upper or lower field, often rolling over a large rock and accidentally dumping the whole mound due to its precariousness in the wheel barrow. With gloves on (in theory). we had to then sort it: burn the burnables in a huge 40-gallon barrel and pitch the cans, jars and bottles into the old open trailer that Dad would take to the dump every few weeks. Sorting people’s garbage was really gross and more than a little dangerous; so was burning it, especially in a field of dry-as-bone hay. We were burning garbage in a huge barrel at tender ages. I would have been seven or eight and Jobe would have been ten or eleven. I have no idea how we didn’t all have 3rd degree burns or didn’t lose an eye because something would inevitably smash or blow up. Of course Job LIKED it when something smashed or blew up. He would often HELP it to smash or blow up and then he would exclaim, ‘Morgan did you SEE THAT?!’ or ‘WATCH THIS!!’…BANG… It terrified me. I was often cowering and inching away as Job had his maniacal fun. A side note: Jobe NEVER smashed beer bottles. They were refundable and provided yet another nice little stream of income.
Jobe’s temper was also famous. He would often be a happy-go-lucky youngster, looking for fun and loving to laugh. But, often, he was treated meanly by our father…he wasn’t the quiet, obedient academic-type that Dad wanted in a son, I guess. None of his sons were showing signs of being university types (at this point, Luke was too little to show the signs of his future studiousness). Dad could be downright mean with biting sarcasm and cruel comments. He would say things like, “Jobe, you could have been a good hockey player, but, then you got hard to handle.” Dad would also be quite physical, grabbing an arm, pulling hair or an ear to propel one of his children in the direction of his choosing. One Christmas, Dad wrapped up a used dictionary and put it under the tree for Jobe. On the inside cover he had written: Have a read of this once in awhile. You might learn something. From Dad.
and if he missed that nail, there was a very good chance the hammer would end up in the lake and hopefully your noggin’ wasn’t in its flight path.
The first year, however, Dad put Luke and I on a Greyhound bus for the forty hour trip. We had to change buses at 2 o’clock in the morning in Detroit, Michigan which is known to be one of the most dangerous cities in the US of A. Let’s face it, Grey Hound bus stations are not usually located in the nicest parts of town. I was 16 and Luke was 13. Dad’s best advice was to use my scarf to tie my purse tight to my body. Luke and I found a seat on the dingy molded plastic chairs and linked arms with eye-balls peeled. We were terrified. Since I am writing this today, I guess we survived the Detroit Bus Station, twice, actually. We were there on the way home too.
Luke and I spent many hours on the beach and walking around the town of Fort Myers. We didn’t have much spending money so we would usually have an ice-cream and maybe some fries around lunch time. Then we would walk all the way back the couple miles to where we were staying with Dad and Wen. By that time, we were wiped. We had swam, sunbathed, played frisbee plus the walk to and from the beach. Luke would carry his boom box on his shoulder and play music for us all the way.
Wendy found this beach park for us to go explore. No one was there and it was gorgeous. We walked along the sand and found wee little treasures while a very relaxed Dad slept on a towel on the beach. Luke and I jokingly calling him a beached whale, when we were out of earshot. After a good snore, he awoke and sat up with sand all over the side of his face and pine needles in his hair. Oh my, we chuckled. Perhaps he did these things on purpose to get a reaction. I’m still not sure about that.
The trail was often quite rough and sometimes included donkey trains — which were tricky because you had to be sure to get to the inside of the donkey train. They could easily bump you off the trail. That would be bad.
(All photos courtesy of google images — I would have loved to have some of my own photos but I didn’t own a camera back then and there were no smart phones either.)
First up was Blomidon Beach at low tide, once with my friend Lisa, then Jessie (and dogs) and then again with Victoria. Victoria was home for the summer holiday and as eager to walk the beaches as I. That worked! Blomidon Beach is a red, flat beach with red sheer cliffs hemming it in. There are often tiny little avalanches of red stones coming down off those cliffs. All along the top of the cliffs there are nesting holes for the swallows that make their homes there.
At the water’s edge, it was astoundingly beautiful, the patterns in the rock, the ripple of the waves, the call of the gulls and before that, the emerald green moss on the tiny, perpetually trickling runoff waterfall. We savoured it all and it was magical. Returning to the parking lot, we sat at the hexagonal picnic table and each ate a Valley apple and drank fresh water from our water bottles. So simple. So good. The day had been perfect. We had taken summer seriously.
Next it was Blue Beach with Rachel and Simon. I picked them up and off we drove on another very pretty day. Blue Beach is located between Avonport and Hantsport on the Minas Basin. It wasn’t a far ride for us. We parked and started the wee jaunt down the dirt road to the beach. Every time I walk down that dirt track, my mind is aflutter with memories of the previous walks on that beach. The time my step-sister was visiting with her family and her palpable anticipation of this fossil-riddled beach. She normally walks with a cane. Not that day. She was just too excited and the adrenaline was rampant. She was almost skipping. Then, while she and hubby examined fossils, I spent time with their two children and Leo. Skipping stones and doing handstands, running and tumbling, chasing and being chased and getting wet with furry, joyful 
Betty and I did Medford Beach together, parking in the cul-de-sac and walking down the grassy slope, across the tiny bridge and carefully stepping down the eroded small cliff, onto the red sand, beside the fresh run-off stream. The dogs were with us and into it full tilt. The chance to run free, smelling all the smells and swimming willy-nilly made their tails wag furiously happily. Following their lead, we kicked off our footwear, sinking our feet into the cool red sand. Then we walked and walked and talked and talked solving all of the problems of the world.
If we weren’t in Public Gardens though, we might be out with our Realtor who was trying to find us a house. It was a hell of a market. A sellers market where everything was selling out from under us, even as we were walking through a house.
t and dry. It was an incredible day and we learned all manner of wonderful tidbits from Lucy. Next, we put on belly-dancing costumes and makeup, had white wine, and were given a lesson. We then walked through the peaceful lush forest of the farm and did yoga moves on fallen logs taking photos and such.
boardwalk over the dune to the beach. Amy gasped at the sight of Hirtle’s. So vast, so empty, so perfect. Arm in arm we walked the beach and Amy told me then the sad tale that she and Phil were not going to last. Up until that point, I had thought Phil was the ‘one’. Amy had not told me her struggles with Phil. She told me then, on Hirtle’s. I will never forget that exchange. Sadly, Amy told me that she thought she would end up alone in her old age. Fat chance of that, I thought.
